#Miguel fumbled HARD

[cctori]

Xina at high school prom!!!!

[scoobysnakz]

loser miguel who starts to normalize his perverse thoughts because, if he’s thinking nice sweet things, surely they balance out?

he can imagine your plump ass bouncing on his cock as much as he wants, as long as he pictures himself cooking you a romantic meal right after, it’s fine.

loser miguel who can finally start accepting your hugs again. and thank god for that, he thought he was going to combust without your warm embrace. he had gotten so used to not getting them again, that his cock immediately stiffened the first time around, leaving him a blushing mess when you made another joke about his keys.

loser miguel who starts outwardly asking for any form of physical affection. he’s gone so long without any touch that living without your hugs leaves a burning deep inside him.

he shamelessly stands there after saying goodbye, arms outstretched, waiting for you to run over to him and press your smaller frame against him as you bury your head against his chest, forcing you to get dizzy from his cologne.

loser miguel who puts on a show of being embarrassed whenever someone says your his work wife, or simply more than the best friends everyone at the workplace has come to know you as.

they all know you’re a very touchy feely person, but you’re extra clingy with miguel, and he doesn’t mind a bit.

loser miguel who is over the moon when you want to repay him for walking you to your train the other night.

he has a few ideas in mind, you sprawled out on the sofa with his thick fingers burried in your leaky cunt while stares up at your perfect face with those soft, brown eyes of his. his cock sliding against your slick folds as you beg and whine for more doesn’t sound too bad either, if you aren’t down for him ravaging your clit.

loser miguel who has to make do with you buying him lunch one day because you insisted on something other than the ‘quality time’ he proposed. he was too busy forcing himself not to ogle at your face when he suggested it, to even notice the way your gaze softens at his kind offer, or the flicker of hope in your eyes when he smiles awkwardly at you.

loser miguel who’s too self conscious for his own good. he’s been told countless times how easy it would be for him to walk into any bar and have anyone come home with him.

there’s always plenty of girls who throw themselves at him, the waitresses who tell him when their shift ends, the delivery drivers who offer to settle for a different payment, the women he works with offering to stay behind with him to work on different projects. and maybe if he wasn’t so oblivious he would have said yes at some point, too fed up of his palm and whatever fucked up porn he can find to resist the rush of arousal that hits him whenever he sees a pair of tits.

but that was before he’d met you, it’s different. sophia vergara herself could get down on her knees for him and he would deny her. she doesn’t have your smile, your charisma, you cheery laugh, your perky ass, your soft, homely scent that lingers on everything you touch , no one does.

loser miguel who has to excuse himself from the project meeting because he can’t hide his erection, no matter how many times he changes position.

much to his dismay, the toilets are full and your hand placed lazily on his thigh as you idly fidget with his fingers has left him with an achingly hard cock. so he has to hobble down the, thankfully, barren hallways, cock so hard it hurts to walk.

he pulls himself into the lab, door locked firmly behind him as he pushes himself into the corner. hastily, his hands reach for his belt buckle, fingers fumbling with the urgency that shoots through his veins.

a low, shaky groan escapes him as he finally wraps him clammy palm around his cock, precum already spilling everywhere. he starts of with soft, gentle strokes, hoping that it’ll be enough to get him off but all he can think about is the way you leaned into him as the two of you walked into the conference room this morning.

his deep brown eyes scan the lab lazily until they land on your lab coat. in a moment of desperation, he grabs it and brings it up to his nose, cock instantly growing harder as your scent takes over his senses.

his hand moves faster now, more deliberate and hungry strokes that cause his hips to stutter and countless prayers of your name to fall from his lips.

“migs?” for a second he thinks he’s gone insane. he’s started hearing your voice, feeling your warmth, the sweetness of the air around you, when he knows damn well your in that meeting.

“migs, you okay?” you call out again, concern clear in your shaky tone, “the lab was locked but i couldn’t find you anywhere else.”

fuck

you’re in here. but he’s so close and if you keep standing in that exact position he can see your ass without you even knowing he’s there.

“there you are! i was so worried when you rushed out of that meeting,” you ramble, finally turning the corner, only to be met with the sight of miguel’s head rolled back and leaky cock on show with… is that your lab coat?

“fuck! i’m so sorry,” you yell, hands flying up to cover your reddened face.

“ay coño,” he husks, still pumping at his cock, too close to stop now.

you try to back away but those gentle, mahogany eyes you love so much are glowing a fierce red, drawing you in closer to miguel and his burning desire for you.

prev < > next

tag list: @xxyaoi-nationxx @farrowroyale @m4dyy

[brookediamonds]

stuck on you | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: This is apart of my sunshine!Axel x Grumpy!Reader trope. Your friends have recognized your behaviors with your boyfriend are similar to a famous pair of eagles that are best known as Jackie & Shadow.

Word Count: 1.7k Warnings: none, fluff!!

gif is not mine

Lunch at school is always chaotic, but today, Sam is unusually quiet, eyes glued to her phone.

You don’t think much of it as Miguel and Robby are wrapped up in some debate over street tacos, Tory is swiping fries off Robby’s tray, and Axel…

Well, Axel is all over you, as usual.

You sit stiffly, munching away at your chips, while he lounges against you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

One arm drapes lazily around your shoulders, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair.

Every so often, he leans in, nuzzling into your temple, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, just generally being Axel.

And as usual, you don’t fight it. You just side-eye him with the kind of exasperation only built through experience, letting out a slow sigh like you’ve long since given up on stopping him.

Across the table, Sam suddenly snorts. "Oh my god."

"What?" Miguel questions her, leaning in.

She doesn’t answer right away, just turns her phone so the rest of you can see. The Big Bear Bald Eagle Live Nest Cam is playing, and on the screen, Jackie and Shadow sit in their nest.

Right as the camera focuses, Shadow swoops in with a giant stick, fumbling with it, only to knock straight into Jackie.

She doesn’t react beyond narrowing her eyes, looking utterly unimpressed as she endures his antics. You can't help but snort when she begins to holler at him.

Miguel takes one look at the screen. Then at you. Then at Axel, practically wrapped around you like a human blanket.

A slow grin spreads across his face.

"If Jackie and Shadow were people, it would totally be Y/n and Axel," Miguel snickers.

Your friends burst out laughing, nodding in agreement and Robby adding in, "I can totally see it."

You inhale deeply, exhaling in pure, exhausted defeat. Because the worst part? They’re absolutely right.

Axel grins, poking at your side. "Does this mean I can start building a nest around you?"

Laughter erupts around the table, Tory actually doubling over. You roll your eyes, shoving his arm off your shoulder, but he just leans right back in like it never happened.

"Don't get any ideas," you threaten him, continuing to pop another chip in your mouth.

Miguel wipes a fake tear from his eye. "Oh man, that’s too good."

Lunch continues as normal with Sam propping her phone up for everyone to bird watch with her, all while Axel persists to be all over you, with you tolerating it like you have been this past year.

And you wouldn't have it any other way. But Axel, being Axel, doesn’t let the joke die.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Later, at practice, you’re stretching when you notice something out of the corner of your eye. A small pile of sticks, placed suspiciously close to your feet.

You frown, looking up. Axel, standing a few feet away, meets your gaze with an infuriatingly innocent expression.

You glance down. Another stick has been added.

"Babe."

"Yes, my love?"

You stare at him. He stares back. Then, very deliberately, he places another stick by your foot.

"You’re not building a nest around me," you say pointedly. Tory and Sam being to snicker at your boyfriend’s insistence.

"I think I am," Axel says, his blue-green eyes sparkling with mischief. 

He drops to a crouch beside you, arranging the sticks in a loose circle. "It's a very nice nest. Very sturdy. Top-quality twigs."

You roll your eyes so hard you're surprised they don't get stuck. "Sensei is going to kill you."

"Worth it," he declares, adding another stick with exaggerated care. "Shadow would be proud."

Sam snaps a picture on her phone. "This is going on Instagram."

"Tag me," Axel says without looking up from his masterpiece.

You reach for your water bottle, purposely ignoring him. "We are not eagles."

"We could be," he insists, pushing another stick toward your feet. "Look how well I provide for you."

"What's happening over there?” Sensei Lawrence voice booms from across the yard. "Are we training or building a campfire?"

Axel jumps to his feet, not even slightly embarrassed. 

"Just preparing a home for my mate, sensei!" he calls back cheerfully.

Your face burns as everyone turns to look. Miguel and Robby are practically holding each other up, they're laughing so hard.

"Your mate needs to work on her roundhouse kicks, not real estate," Sensei Lawrence barks, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitching. "Clean that crap up and give me twenty push-ups, on your knuckles, both of you!"

"Both of us?" you sputter. "I didn't do anything!"

"You encouraged him by existing," Johnny retorts. "Twenty push-ups."

Axel is already dropping to the ground, grinning like this is the best thing that's happened all day. You groan but join him in the grass. 

"I'm going to kill you later," you mutter, starting your push-ups.

"No, you won't," he replies cheerfully. "You love me too much."

The worst part is he's right, but you'd rather eat your words.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Later That week...

Your parents are out for their date night, leaving you and Axel alone with a stack of movies, a bowl of popcorn, and the comfortable quiet of the empty house.

You're nestled into the corner of the couch, wrapped in your favorite fuzzy blanket, with Axel curled around you like a human radiator. 

His body is warm against yours, one arm wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on top of your head. The TV flickers with an action movie you both agreed on. 

You're only half-watching as you listen to Axel's heartbeat, his fingers drawing absent patterns on your arm.

"Want more popcorn?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your hair.

You shake your head, burrowing deeper into his side. "Too comfortable to move."

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and into yours. 

Outside, rain has started to patter against the windows, creating a cozy backdrop to your evening. 

"You know," Axel says suddenly, his voice soft but playful, "I've been thinking about those eagles."

You groan, tilting your head back to look at him.

"Are you still on that? It's been a week."

"No, but really," he insists, shifting so he can see your face better. His eyes catch the light from the TV. "They mate for life, you know."

"I'm aware," you say dryly. "Sam has been sending me eagle facts every day since lunch."

The rain picks up outside, drumming against the roof in a soothing rhythm. Axel's fingers find yours under the blanket, intertwining with practiced ease. 

His skin is warm against yours, calloused from karate but gentle as he traces your knuckles.

"I like that about them," he continues, his voice taking on that dreamy quality it gets when he's thinking deeply about something. "They build this home together, year after year. Same place. Same partner."

You smile despite yourself.

For all his childish antics, there's something endearing about the way Axel latches onto ideas, turning them over in his mind like precious stones until he finds the facet that shines the brightest.

"Jackie probably rolls her eyes at Shadow just as much as I do with you," you point out, reaching for your soda on the coffee table.

"Probably," he agrees, helping you sit up without unwrapping his arm from around you. "But she still comes back to him every season."

You take a sip of your soda, watching the rain trace silver patterns down the window. 

Axel shifts beside you, looking down at you with a completely serious expression.

"Would you still love me if we were eagles, babe?"

You nearly choke on your soda, coughing as you set the cup down.

"Would I still love you if we were eagles?" You repeat back to him.

"Yeah," he says, completely earnest, his eyes completely locked on yours. "Would you pick me every season?"

There's something in his voice that makes you pause. Beneath the ridiculous question is a vulnerability that catches you off guard.

You study his face, the way his lips quirk up at one side when he's trying not to seem too serious.

"I don't know," you tease, pretending to consider it carefully. "Do eagle boyfriends steal the last slice of pizza and blame it on Casper the ghost?"

He clutches his chest dramatically. "One time! That happened one time!"

"And do eagle boyfriends put their freezing cold feet on their girlfriends when they're trying to sleep?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"My feet are not that cold," Axel protests, immediately pressing his socked foot against your calf to prove his point.

You yelp and swat at him. He laughs, the sound warm and familiar, before pulling you closer. 

"You didn't answer my question," he reminds you, his accent thickening slightly the way it does when he's being sincere.

You look up at him, at his stupidly handsome face and those ocean-colored eyes that somehow always manage to look at you like you're the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

"Yes," you say finally, your voice softer than you intended. "I would pick you every season, even if you built the messiest nest in all of Big Bear.”

Axel's entire face lights up, and he presses his forehead against yours. "I knew it."

"Don't let it go to your head," you warn, but you're smiling too.

He kisses you softly, his lips warm against yours. When he pulls back, there's that look in his eyes, the one that makes your heart do stupid things in your chest.

"For the record," he says softly, "I would pick you every season too. Even if you were the grumpiest eagle on the mountain."

"I would be the grumpiest eagle," you agree. "Especially with you bringing me sticks all day."

Axel laughs, pulling you back against his chest as he settles deeper into the couch. 

"I'd bring you the best sticks. The premium sticks. Five-star eagle nest material,” he declares. 

"Of course you would," you say, unable to keep the fondness from your voice.

The movie plays on, forgotten in the background as Axel's fingers resume their gentle exploration of your arm. 

The rain continues its steady rhythm against the windows, creating a cocoon of sound around you both.

It's moments like these, quiet, unplanned, that make all his ridiculous antics worth it.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Masterlist

Taglist: @ggrgcribg

(a/n: i had to write this one, it was too cute not to. working on the diaz!reader next, i already have my outline and ending can't wait to get it out! don't forget to like, comment, or reblog! much love 🤍)

[improbable-outset]

📂 𝐄𝐧𝐯𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦

↳ 📂 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

{{Part 2}}

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎3 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @m4dyy @going-through-shit @miguels-aranita @roserfz27

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: SMUT, PIV sex, unprotected sex, Roommate AU, oral sex (m receiving), brief fingering, accidental squirting. MINORS DNI!!🔞🔞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Miguel has mixed feelings towards your new boyfriend. That was until you came back with very exciting devastating news

𝐀/𝐍: Was chatting to one of the Miguel cai bots. Tell me why the bot made him use a cattle prod on me 😭 electric play??

It was a short way to his bedroom. As soon as he stepped in with you in his arms, he closed the door behind him with his feet, before gently laying you on his bed.

There was no way he was going to do this on your bed, the same bed your ex fucked you on. He probably still left traces of his presence there, like his scent on your clothes, and Miguel wasn’t prepared to face that.

Right now, he was focused on you. He left a gap between your bodies for now as he climbed over to look down at you beneath him. He studied your face as you gazed back at him. A small smile formed on your lips as your eyes fell on his own lips and Miguel found himself smiling back.

It still felt surreal, having you below him like this and being granted your constant to take you right now. He dreamt of this moment for so long and he didn’t want to mess anything up. But that might be because of his perfectionism.

He felt your hand reach up to his face to pull him in and he obliged. The warmth of your breath ghosted over his skin before he pressed his lips on yours again, picking up from where he left off.

It was more comfortable for him to deepen the kiss here, with the firmness of the mattress keeping you in place rather than the couch. His tongue slipped past your lips and his fangs emerged, lightly scraped against you.

The built up saliva helped to soften the edge for you so it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. As he pulled away, a thin string of saliva trailed between his lips and yours.

“I don’t want to do anything if you’re not on some sort of birth control.” He said after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. There was still a rational side of him that was urging him to tell you the pivotal reminder. He had to know, even if he did want to stuff you. But an unplanned pregnancy could potentially derail the bond you’ve already built.

“Well, I’m still on the pills.” You replied. Of course, you were still sexually active with your ex before you broke up, which only happened a few hours ago.

He felt a wave of relief after hearing your answer, giving him a sense of clarity that he can still come inside you.

Your hands reached for his pants. Despite hovering over you, you still fumbling with the flier before feebly tugging on the edge of the fabric. It took him extra willpower for him to get a hold of your wrist and move your hand away, pinning them to the mattress.

“I know you’re eager right now, but we have to take it slow or I won’t last.” His composure staggered with his voice straining as he spoke. Your face dropped in disappointment.

“It’s your fault. You’ve left me second guessing about this for so long. Let me do this Miguel, please,” the eagerness from you took him by surprise.

If he knew you wanted this just as badly as he did, he would’ve taken you a long time ago. Your pleas only made his cock twitch more, desperate to be free from the bondage of his clothes.

He couldn’t bring himself to argue back, his dick will hate him for it, instead he laid back on the bed so you could easily access his crotch.

After finally removing his pants, his dick sprung free, hard and heavy. Shock was written all over your face with your mouth slightly agape and your eyes gawking at his impressive length. By the look of your face, you’ve probably never seen anything comparable to his size. The pride in his chest swelled in his chest exponentially. The little blood vessels were bulging from where the base was and his precum was already leaking from the tip.

But his confidence quickly disappeared when he felt your hand clamp around his length, swiping your thumb over the tip where the precum was leaking from. He threw his head back and groaned from your touch.

You lowered yourself and he felt your tongue lapping at the tip before you took his length in your mouth. He watched through his squinted eyes as you took his dick, disappearing inch by inch into your pretty mouth.

It was obvious that you had your fair share of experience, the way you moved your tongue around his dick. You knew what you were doing to him and how to get him riled up.

His hands went to grip your hair, grabbing a fistful of it as you kept sucking. Watching your cheeks hollow and your eyes firing with lust up at him was dizzying. He couldn’t help the moans that slipped from his mouth from the sudden peak of pleasure. However, he didn’t expect you to pull away so suddenly. Just when he was close to reaching his peak.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want you to come just yet…” you uttered but Miguel could sense the teasing in your tone. He didn’t argue back though.

Instead he removed the remaining clothes he was wearing before his hands reached your zipper. You still had on the dress you were supposed to wear with your date.

You always looked breathtaking whenever you dressed up and put in a little extra effort in your appearance. But now he felt a little bit of hope that maybe he could see you put that effort when being with him now.

The dress quickly slipped off of you and Miguel disregarded it elsewhere with the rest of his clothes. He immediately caught the sight of your panties and how damp they were already. You were wet. For him. He felt his cock twitch again from the sight.

The fabric candy glistened from your own sweet juice as he took them off. His hands reached for your folds, feeling the wetness between his fingers while drawing lazy circles around your clitirous.

You gasped from his touch as he continued to work with his fingers. You were so responsive to his touches, it was driving him insane. It was all for him and him only.

But his dick was getting too desperate to feel you now. He pulled his hands away from your fold and repositioned himself with his cock lining up against your heated cunt. The tip brushed against the skin before nuzzling over your opening.

A wave of relief and pleasure washed over him as he pushed the head in, finally feeling your walls open up for his cock. He halted once he was fully inside of you.

He took this moment to fully analyse your body language. He noticed how you were gripping the sheets below you from how much he was stretching you to accommodate his size. You felt so good around his dick, caressing every surface area of the sensitive skin.

Your breathing pattern became shallow from how much you were overwhelmed by him taking you like this. He saw you look up at him and let out a shaking breath of approval, or it could be anticipation, he couldn’t tell.

“Are you okay?” He asked. He needed to know how things were in your end. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you or cause you any discomfort, even if you did have experience with this.

“I’m alright, just trying to adjust right now.” You replied.

“Let me know when you’re ready.”

After you gave him the signal of approval, he dragged himself out, feeling the suction of your walls from the withdrawal, before carefully rolling his hips back into you. The friction you had around his cock would be the death of him. But he would die happy if this was the way he would go.

He continued rolling his hips in a steady rhythm, feeling your nails dig into his back — just as he had always imagined. He sunk himself into you, nuzzling himself into your neck and feeling your pulse against his lips.

He quickened his pace now, having familiarised the feeling of your walls clenching him desperately and your legs clamped around his waist in response.

Your moans were more needy and frantic now than what he overheard from those nights with your ex. Perhaps a sign that he was doing a better job than he had. Your chest pressed against his as you arched you back up and threw your head against the pillow.

Sliding one hand down between your bodies, he reached for your sensitive bud. Once he found it, he circled his thumb around the area before pinching it slightly, making you moan louder.

He felt a rhythmic contraction from your walls as you cried out. You unraveled before him and immediately, he pulled himself away to be met with your stunned gaze and shivering body. Your eyes widened as you tried to figure out what just happened.

“Did I just…” your voice was hoarse and you couldn’t bring yourself to finish off your sentence. Miguel was still inside of you as he soaked in the moment.

“You just came.”

“I…did?”

“Have you never done that before?” You shook your head mutely in response.

Then realisation hit him. You had been sexually active with your ex for months and he hadn’t made you come once during your entire relationship.

Now, this was your first time doing it with Miguel and in just under a few minutes of him ramming inside you, he already got you to reach your peak. To say that this was an ego boost for Miguel would be a heavy understatement.

Miguel felt his control slip from him and he continued thrusting, but this time his pace was sporadic and harsh, sinking you further into the sheets. You cried out in response, digging your nails deeper into his back and gripping hard.

“Miguel…Miguel-” your sweet, eager voice filled his ear. For him. Only him.

His pace was driven by his high ego and hunger, now knowing that he was able to achieve something that your ex could never. His rapid movements made his hair fall and stick to the film of sweat that formed on his forehead. The room was filled with your desperate moans and the wet slaps of his hips snapping into you.

After a few more thrusts, his hips flushed against your cunt as he finally reached his climax. A low groan drew out from his lips. His cum spewed out inside of you, almost scorching and dislodging your silky walls. His load reached every crevice, making sure he stained you. The sheer force made you tear up.

Even after he withdrew himself from you, there were still streaks of his cum that leaked from your hole. Both your laboured breaths filled his ears as he felt his erotic high slowly simmered down.

He felt your legs around his waist loosen before going limp on the bed. He lifted himself off of you, feeling the sweat stick to his body as he admired his handiwork.

You were still drenched in the afterglow and your legs on either side of his body were shaking now. Your hair was a mess from rubbing against the mattress from the friction of his thrusts, but it still framed your face beautifully. He couldn’t help himself from reaching over and caressing your cheek, admiring you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“Tired,” you looked up at him, your gaze yielding with lust.

Miguel rolled over beside you, laying on his side to face you. His deflated dick settled back between his legs.

You rolled to your side to face him too, getting close enough to rest your hands on his chest and his arms instantly wrapped around your waist. Even after everything, he still couldn’t get his hands off of you. The warmth of your touch was a tangible reminder of the bond you both shared.

The air still smelt of sweat and sex as he drew you in closer. His mind wandered about the future ahead and how life between the two of you would unfold with the newfound revelation.

The thought stirred both nervousness and anticipation, not knowing how things would go. But despite that, there was still peace that overshadowed it all because he knew that his feelings for you ran deep.

“Do you wanna shower together?” He whispered.

“I think I’d like that.”

Icl, I’m kinda having mixed feelings for my Miguel fics now…I’m not too proud with how this one specifically turned out…

[feyhunter78]

Lab Partners

(Image taken from Pinterest, I believe the artist is teletwobees) More Nerd!Miguel here

Also, plz feel free to ask me about college/nerd!miguel bc he is in my thoughts now

Regret, that’s what you’re feeling as you bury your face in your arms, the lab table cool against your skin. You should’ve brought a jacket, but you didn’t have time, just raced out of your apartment to your car in leggings and a t-shirt with your letters printed across the back in purple and white bubble letters.

“Y/N are—are you okay?” Miguel’s voice is soft, the sound of his chair scraping against the floor not as soft, your head aching, pain piercing through your brain at the noise.

Your stomach rumbles and a wave of fatigue washes over you as you lift your head to look at him. “Got dragged to the bar last night.”

He’s wearing a soft looking, long sleeve dark blue shirt, the sleeves pushed up exposing his forearms, his glasses flecked with raindrops, his hair is tousled and slightly damp curling slightly at the ends.

“On a Thursday night?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowing as he unpacks the lab equipment.

“It’s the night everyone goes out, I don’t know why, and I hate it.” You whine, massaging your temples.

Miguel’s large warm hand presses against your forehead, and you startle for a moment, causing him to jolt back, stuttering apologies.

“I—I just wanted to make sure you weren’t sick.” He says, a light dusting of pink across his tanned cheekbones.

He’s got great cheekbones, really, he’s got great everything. Maybe it’s just the hangover talking, but you really want to kiss him. Well, you’ve wanted to kiss him since he sat next to you on the first day of class. And when he slid his notes over to you the month after when he saw you struggling to keep up with the professor’s supersonic lecturing speed.

“I mean, a hangover is a kind of sickness, I’m pretty sure.” You say, your own face burning, but you can’t tell if it from his touch or the hangover.

“Don’t they say to drink something for a hangover? A Bloody Mary or a mimosa? I heard the café off campus sells them until noon.” He suggests, nerves coloring his tone.

Is he trying to ask you out? No, he can’t be. He’s Miguel, the genius, shy and sweet, and definitely not interested in you, and your hectic, dramatic life with sisters you both love and hate depending on what week it is.

“Can’t drink in letters.” You tell him, fumbling for your water bottle and taking a long drink, your eyes fluttering closed as the cool water soothes your sore throat.

“Really?” He asks, and his eyes are on you when you open yours, lingering on your lips, then darting away.

“Yep, it’s like the number one rule for all sororities all across the U.S. movies always get it wrong, really pisses me off.” You grumble, putting your water bottle back in your bag and trying to muster the energy to focus on the assignment in front of you.

“Interesting.” Miguel says, taking his glasses off and cleaning them with the hem of his shirt.

Like an absolute pervert, your eyes shoot down to the exposed sliver of skin. Tanned and toned, you swallow hard as you rip your eyes away.

“Yep, Hollywood, they always try to make us look like drunk sluts. And look, I may be drunk occasionally, but I’m not a slut.”

Miguel’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “I would never call you that—never think you were one, ever.”

You smile and pat his shoulder. “I know, Miguel, you’re too sweet for that.” You can’t help but let your hand drag down to his bicep, his stupidly firm bicep. “My sweet boy.”

His glasses clatter onto the lab table and Miguel scrambles to pick them up, slipping them back on. “Did you get to finish your assignment yet?”

You screw your eyes closed, swearing under your breath. “That’s what I forgot.”

“It’s due tomorrow.” He reminds you.

You nod and press the back of your hand to your forehead, willing your headache to recede. “Yes, yes, I know, I just shit, I totally forgot, and I’ve been so busy, we have this major philanthropy event coming up, and I’ve been up till two am all week helping paint the banner and I really don’t get anything we’re doing in here.”

You pause, sniffling, your eyes welling with tears, as you bite the inside of your cheek trying to keep from crying in the back of the lab.

“I could help you?” Miguel offers tentatively, fidgeting with his pen, his eyes darting between you and the table.

“Really? Miguel, that would be amazing.” You say, unable to resist the urge to lean over and wrap your arms around him.

He smells good, like expensive cologne, and old books.

You take a moment longer than necessary to pull back, basking in his warmth, in the way his strong arms wrap loosely around you before he gains the courage and crushes you to his chest.

“It’s no problem, why don’t we meet in the library around four? It looks like you’re almost done with it, so we shouldn’t be there for too long.” His voice low, calm, and warm vibrates in his chest, and you relax into his hold before pulling back and nodding.

“That would be perfect, thank you.” You beam at him, headache receding, the knot in your stomach unraveling, there’s something about him that’s so comforting, makes you feel safe.

He nods and focuses in on the PowerPoint the professor is going over. He looks so handsome, warm brown eyes flickering over the typed words, his broad shoulders still half turned towards you, his full lips parted ever so slightly as he mumbles to himself.

You rest your chin in your hand and watch him out of the corner of your eye, unable to keep from daydreaming about what it might be like to be his.

Miguel is going places, you know it. And you? You’ve always thought it might be fun to be a trophy wife, maybe Miguel needed a trophy wife?

You can see it now, standing next to him in a gorgeous red dress, your hand around his bicep as he accepts some award for genetics. You can almost feel his lips against yours as he thanks you for your support and dips you old movie style.

“Y/N I’ll see you at four, yeah?” Miguel’s voice pulls you from your daydreams. Class is over, you’ve taken zero notes, and he definitely caught you zoning out.

You nod, and quickly gather your things. “Yeah, yeah four, I’ll meet you there!”

(Also ummm I was in a sorority my entire time at college, so I am actually the expert and Hollywood gets everything soooo wrong it makes me legit angry😭)

Miguel TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps

[desb3ar]

Night Terrors

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Summary: You had a nightmare.

Warning: Chasing, animalistic actions, dark themes

Word count: 800+ (Short)

Your legs were on fire, pushing against the hard ground with overpowering adrenaline fueling your vessel. Your mind screamed madly at you to not let your taunting exhaustion prevail. There was a barreling threat on your shortening trail, hungry and desperate. The mindless monster seeks salvation through you, tasting whatever you have in store within the confines of your warm, sweaty skin. Your mouth ran dry when you heard the grunts and callouts, begging you to escape from your goal of finally getting away from him. You didn’t give in to his harrowing pleas, your instinct wouldn’t allow it.

Caught in his web and getting out every time, it was a repetitive hell that made surrendering seem like heaven. You told yourself, what was the point? Why even try? It felt like an endless, hellish game of cat and mouse and you got trapped no matter how careful you were to not trip, slip, fall, and fumble. Still, he didn’t catch you. You were far too slippery for him.

What could be done? His heightened senses laughed at you trying to hide from him. He could sniff you out in seconds, he could see you in the dark corners that had lied about the promised safety it would provide. He could hear the trembling breath you tried to quiet down, making catching your breath merely a death sentence. Before your lungs could replenish the sweet air back into its longing cavities, you were instantly caught. His face of pure malice and twisted intent shows up in mere seconds once you’ve recovered. Nothing worked, everything was against you. Everything.

You ran down to the empty streets of the underground, your legs begging for rest as you seek restlessly for refuge. Looking around as you moved with haste. Your eyes darted anywhere that could at least postpone your death. Keeping yourself together and yet you began to think that running for this long seemed to be useless knowing your end was inevitable. He will catch you.

Your legs, mind, arms, and whole being were riddled with hopelessness. There was nothing you could do against him. Your web shooters had nothing else to provide after you made an attempt to trap him instead, only for him to slash through the material like butter and run to you like nothing you’ve seen before. He was an animal, a carnivore neglected, trapped in a cage that finally was freed from the bars of the enclosure it had remained. Ribs showed through the skin, eyes wide with need for food, all things blurred in its vicinity, nothing wasn’t a victim to its terror it rained upon the poor people it encountered or sniffed out.

Your eyes threatened to spill more tears, blurring your vision as you, like you were a small-minded character only capable of performing horror movie cliches, made your way down an alleyway. Your last resort. You didn’t know why you tried. These horrifying moments end the same way, no matter how much you tried to counter it. You were in a dim corner, right beside rotting garbage, you felt your stomach turn at the odor. However, that didn’t grant a huge effect like the beety red eyes did when they locked onto you like he already knew exactly where you were. It only just now clicked with you that he had an AI. Telling him every detail he needed to know to secure his prize.

This meant that everything you did was pointless.

Your doom was sealed as he came down with such haste that you didn’t even have time to scream. Not here.

.

.

.

.

“...”

.

.

“... (Y/N)...”

.

.

“(Y/N)...!”

.

“(Y/N)!!!”

You were shaken awake. You heard the sounds of Miguel’s voice, it sounded like he was struggling, and you felt his hands try to hold you still, pressing hard on your shoulders with a tight grip. You were screaming at the top of your lungs, from the scratchiness of your throat, you’ve been doing so for ages.

"Baby! Open your eyes!" He pleaed. Just like in the dream.

You opened your eyes, greeted by Miguel’s gentle expression that was filled with fear and overbearing concern. Your yelling ceased, chest going up and down. You felt he had his body weight pressed down on your legs, his solution to keep your legs from flailing around, as if you were trying to run from your unforgiving mind. His worried eyes darted at your face which was drenched in sweat and tears. You had finally calmed down enough to utter his name. 

“(Y/N)...” He melted, arms wrapping around you, holding you close like you had almost died. 

He had been awake the entire time you had your dream, the sounds of distress bleeding past your lips stifled him awake. The way your calm body had progressively gotten restless genuinely scared him stiff.

You looked at him, unable to make sense of the sudden contrast of how he was in your dream and how he was now. 

Miguel O’Hara, your love, your partner you’d fight demons for, had torn into you in your dreams. How he’s comforting you. Nothing made sense to you.

Why? -

-

-

-

Aaaaa. You didn't see that coming, did you? Well, surprise! That was something I've been wanting to write about for... A literal second. I'm in class rn as of typing this lol. Some horror for the holidays. Bound to get you in the spirit! ;D

I HOPE YOU LIKED THE READ!!

i'll try and make some art of this when I got time <33

[milimeters-morales]

if you haven’t heard about my worstie flipside yet then here :3 everyone say hi flipside !!

see look. my homicidal adaptoid is finally making friends!!! yes miguel is trying very hard to escape but that’s how everyone makes friends so honestly… yeah nvm take the shot agent 47

and these two even fumble the bag similarly when put on the spot. i would say cute but that sounds too baby-ish for me so i’ll just say it’s very funny. well it’s not THAT funny but. okay nevermind go my cursed scarab

[writers-advocate]

just one more | m.o.

description: he didn’t protect you from your shared sleazy boss. it’s only fair he helps you take care of the ache right?

cw: once again dubcon due to aphrodisiac, overstimulation [on both ends], implied minor wounds [improper use of his talons lol], creampie, excessive use of the word ‘please’

he’s driving you insane.

well, in reality it’s whatever that chemical concoction was that delgato gave you. but your mind isn’t all there enough to blame anyone but miguel at the moment.

nevertheless, you whimper and whine when he doesn’t replace his fingers with his cock after a solid… minute. “please please i can ta- take it. lemme take it, miggy please.” he lets out a slow, shuddering breath, every muscle taut with restraint as he slides his seat back to give you more space to settle. space is the least of your worries judging by the way you simply move with him, chest pressed to his while he tries so hard to satisfy you without losing his mind.

his head thumps back against the headrest when you actively start to ride his fingers, your own hand dipping below his sweats again. “need to, prep yo-ou-“

“please please! i promise i’ll be good, i can take it!” you continue, free hand pulling his away from your dripping cunt with a pathetic sound, and next thing he knows, his fingertips are pressed into your hips, grip most likely bruising while you line yourself up with his leaking tip. he thinks he might die.

he fumbles with his words, unable to form a proper sentence when you are quite literally dripping onto him, and you take that as your chance, sinking down on him with shaky gasps and moans. as soon as your hips meet his, the entirety of him engulfed in your soft, wet heat, he’s sure he has died. and gone to heaven. “shock.“

your movements are desperate. even when he tries to hold you still long enough, to focus on keeping from immediately blowing his load, you simply whimper and grind your hips into his and nudge him just that much deeper each time. somewhere in his foggy mind he knows his grip will leave bruises, and he lets out a low groan at the mental image of hand prints on your soft skin for days. weeks. maybe he’d catch a peek- his hips buck up and you nearly wail out a “thank you!” as he begins fucking up into you properly, guiding your hips into more precise movements.

“sorry. shock, m’sorry, sweet girl. i know you need it i know, i know. gonna fuck you so full.” he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. he’s so lost in how you’re surrounding him in every way, your scent, your body flush to his, the way your walls just keep sucking his cock in. but you hear the words “fuck” and “full” and you know you’ll get what you need.

“baby, baby please- sho- ock!” he gasps, throwing his head back against the pillows. it was a struggle to get you out of the car and upstairs, but worth it in the end. he’s so pretty, you think as you pull another orgasm from him along with a cry of your name. god it still hurts, and you can’t even tell if it’s still need, or just pure overstimulation now. your brain goes with the former.

“need more, miggy please? please just ah- one more?” you’d been saying that for… he doesn’t even know how long anymore, your pretty little voice the only thing bouncing around his head, your soft hands feeling like home on his chest. was it dark out when he’d picked you up? his mind turns to further mush as those sinfully slick sounds from between you begin again and a wave of painful pleasure makes him whine and press his talons deep into your hips. that abnormal little feature of his goes unnoticed by you, too busy chasing another high.

“one more one more just need to be full wanna be full of you oh please please please-“ and he’s nodding along with your words again. anything for you.

while you’re busy attempting to focus on his teary eyes and flushed skin, he’s committing every inch of you he can to memory through his thick haze. the pure need in your barely open eyes, your silky blouse half torn over your chest, a lacy little thing that’s soaked and somehow stayed curled around your ankle. he has the distant thought that he’ll keep those. tuck them away when you inevitably fuck yourself to sleep so that when you wake up and realize what a mistake this was, he’s got his consolation prize.

if you don’t put him to sleep first.

“ay, cariñito- please cum, hermosa just need you t- t’cum ‘nd i’ll fill you up yeah? i’ll give it all to you, never gonna leave your pretty pussy empty again promise just- oh god- just please cum,” he half growls, half whines, and you are truly his personal little heaven because the way your hips roll and bounce and grind like you’re trying to make sure he makes good on that promise is causing him to see stars. he notices your desperate little whimpers like you’re waiting for something and he has enough brain power to slide his thumb from your hip to circle your sensitive clit and oh god you’re cumming fuck.

his name tumbles from your lips for the umpteenth time that night in those slurred whines and moans, and yours from his in a breathy growl that tapers off into a gasp while his cock twitches weakly within your walls, adding to the mess dripping onto the sheets and circling the base of his shaft. you collapse onto his chest and he immediately wraps his arms around you, both of you panting, him murmuring praises while stroking your hair.

it’s not until he’s close to drifting off that you squeeze tight around him again and his eyes fly open simply to roll back with a groan. your sleepy voice is the only other thing that registers. he doesn’t realize that the haze has cleared from your eyes a bit. the drug is wearing off…

“just one more, mig?”

a/n: i know this is not my best work but i needed to get this outta my system he is plaguing me i swear

[appleblueberry-pie]

Oh gosh this is my main-

Alright,,,, so listen. I saw your post on yandere miguel requests and listen when I say I have been starved for some O’ Hara content.

I was wondering if we could maybe have some civilian darling, maybe from Peter B.’s dimension, maybe a friend who doesn’t know about Spiderman identity and has a neutral reaction to the hero in general. For some reason I wanna see this man try to catch darlings attention when being Spiderman isn’t gonna help.

Not to mention the darling is so oblivious to flirting, friendly to everyone and so loving to people maybe even to a fault.

Idk what you wanna do with it but I would love to see this man fumble the bag in some way. Cause we all know he does not have game, whatever fame he had has been washed away by work lmaooo

Miguel is wayyyy, and i mean WAY, too bad at initiating romantic interest

is straightfoward, but doesn't know how to flirt at all whatsoever

but his problem is he only knows how to be straightfoward during work, and literally not with everything else

he's way too sarcastic 90% of the time.

and you are TERRIBLE with being able to tell when he's serious or if he's joking

and he's terrible at being able to tell when you can't fucking tell

it's a never ending loop between the both of you

but he does want to make it work

you're real pretty and real fucking smart. right up his alley, but he's so bad with giving you the appropriate signs.

no one can help him with that but himself

he genuinely needs to up his game

but what are YOU doing, not wondering why a 6'10 buff man is taking you out for dates almost every other fucking day to "learn more about you"???

you're both dumb sorry.

you're definitely more talented than him though.

you have more friends.

it's easier for you to get what you want because you're naturally more charismatic in your own special way.

it's hard to replicate what you can do naturally and what you stand for is so attractive to Miguel.

he really does want you in his life and thinks you'd be very pleasant person to be committed to.

if only he could communicate that with you.....

[ozimagines]

@thisisjacklynn

Miguel Alvarez Dating Tall!Plus!Sized!Reader Would Include…

Miguel was in mid sentence when he saw you.

You were auditioning for one of his plays, and he got all fumbly and dropped his clipboard.

You do that movie things where you both reach for it.

Miguel, to put it bluntly, is so motherfucking goddamn tired of life

So when something like you comes along and has his heart beating again, he has trouble getting it out of his mind.

It takes him a little before he gets up the courage tho

Like you’ll know he likes you by the time he makes for you and the little awkward conversations you have.

Makes you smile

“Hey, Y/N, right?” He asks with a gravel. You nod.

“I was wondering if you needed anyone to run lines with. Like, just to help you learn, I guess.” He offers.

You get the message.

“Sure, Miguel. Tonight, maybe, if you’re keen?”

He agrees and smiles ear to ear for the rest of the day, a glow on his face.

You meet at some sports bar and talk over drinks and food, Miguel having his stage managing book with all his little notes in the margins, and you take notice. You make a remark about them.

“Kinda didn’t give a shit about anything before. I’m tryna change that.” He gives you a warm smile, and walks you through his shorthand.

“What’s ‘before’?” You ask, and he fills you in on Oz. You sort of give an unenthusiastic “oh”.

He’s a little insecure about his past, mostly he says, because others make him feel that way.

You bond over people trying to make you insecure.

“I don’t give into it very often. You can’t. It’s just that everyone has an opinion. Some people say I’m too this or too that.” You tell him.

“Then some people are idiots.” He states resolutely. “‘Cause for me, you’re beautiful. Enough of anything and everything.”

You blush. He’s good at giving compliments, making you feel as special as you ever had.

“Thanks Miguel.”

“Anytime, baby, you know that.”

Damn, the blushes just kept coming.

“Are we gonna get to see each other again?” He asked towards the end.

“Try and stop us.” You responded with a giggle, and his heart felt so very full.

You change his name in your nine from “Theatre Miguel” to “Mr. McDreamy❤️🫶🔥” and show it to him.

He laughs for solid five minutes.

You’re in his phone as “Gorgeous” and while he pretends that’s what he changed it to, you were never in his phone as anything else.

You take long walks in the mornings, enjoying the world before everyone else is up.

He likes flying under the radar like that. You realize he’s a little more insecure than he lets on.

He just overthinks everything.

He overthinks compliments for you, trying to let you know how beautiful you are without fetishizing it. He knows from experience with racial pillow talk that there’s a difference between “I love your culture” and “I want to fuck the token Latino”, so he knows it’s similar for body size.

That said, he can’t stop himself from telling you. It’s like every time he has those thoughts, he just needs to get them out of his head, even if he looks vulnerable and embarrassed a second after.

He doesn’t think he’s smooth with it but he is

Knocks you on your ass a few times

“Hey. No, nothing’s wrong… I just saw you and… damn… it’s sinful. It’s sinful to be that beautiful and not let me hold you every second of every day.”

He likes being over at your place; it’s way more inviting than his.

You make a joke he might as well move in, but his eyes betray him and light up at the thought, before he turned away, embarrassed.

It’s not long after that you move in together. All those steps that felt like too much just feel easier with Miguel.

Miguel actually likes dating someone taller than he is. Something about your height makes him feel protected, like looking up at a caregiver when you’re young.

He doesn’t feel safe everywhere, so when he realizes that he can be vulnerable in front of you he nearly cries. He tries to be strong in front of you but it’s so hard sometimes. So hard trying to have it all together.

That’s the hardest part for him. He still feels like it’s his job to protect you and he’s never felt strong enough. Not to protect himself or anyone else.

You both work through these feelings together, agreeing that you’ll take turns protecting each other in whatever that means at the time.

You make friends with his mother, learning how to cook the things he liked and take care of him when he’s sick.

He likes putting his head on your chest and feeling your heartbeat. Calms him more than anything. Even does it standing up.

He’s probably a beast at oral, getting you into a comfortable position and then plunging down with all the skills he’d learned from past girlfriends.

He can tell when you’re feeling insecure. It isn’t all the time, but every now and then people get in your head.

He’s a German shepherd boyfriend, very militantly protective but he’ll also not leave your side to go kick someone’s ass. He’ll make sure you’re okay first, and then go kick the person’s ass, but you’ll never get lost in the shuffle.

Calls XL sizes Xtra Lovely and makes that same stupid joke every time you go shopping together.

You must laugh every time. 😂

Loves dancing with you. He’s just got that way of looking at you that makes your insides turn to jelly.

“C’mere. No, seriously, c’mere, you’re driving me nuts sitting all the way over there.”

When you’re sitting so close to him you’re practically in his lap, he’s finally satisfied.

He gets that goofy smile whenever you’re near. Like, his cheeks will get all dimply and his eyes will light up.

He loves winking at you from across the room when you’re doing mundane basic shit.

He’ll just catch your gaze and pop a wink and you’re suddenly having a hard time stringing two thoughts together.

It makes him chuckle every time.

He knows he’s a pretty boy but it always boosts his ego to be able to make you blush.

His chest just sort of swells and he struts the rest of the day.

You’re deliriously happy together. And you never feel like you’re too much of anything around Miguel.

[kairiscorner]

no bc y/n is literally me here (ambiverted, socially awkward, school tryhard emez)

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

miguel o'hara x socially awkward, smart, filipino reader

summary: you just want to try and get to know him, but knowing everything about the science and tech at the spider society doesn't magically grant you wisdom on how to make a stoic, stern man become your friend in a day (let alone get your crush to notice you) pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!filipino!reader (but anyone is welcome to read it !!) genre: FLUFF ! word count: 1,359 request: can you write another Miguel x Filipino!reader who's really smart and talented but socially awkward... like the reader has a crush on Miguel and wants to have a close bond/relationship with him so the reader is doing their best to have a conversation/spend time with him (only to end up being kinda awkward in terms of the reader's execution huhu basta something like that ganern)

without a doubt, you were the most important person in the whole spider society as a normal, ordinary, every day person that didn't have any spider powers. second to lyla, you were the only two hands (that had signs of life coursing through their veins) that kept the spider society functioning and afloat. you fixed nearly everybody's technical hiccup in the span of a few minutes, and the best part was, you loved doing this—you loved helping the spider people you came across in the field you were an expert in; it gave you big boosts of confidence to your otherwise incredibly anxious self.

you were always praised and thanked by everyone you helped, and it always brought a smile on your face and humble words out of your mouth every time to respond. however, there was one person you couldn't dare to face in the eye to give a 'you're welcome' to them, one person you always ran away from in embarrassment every time you fumbled up your greeting to them or their name in sheer anxiety of how to approach them. your mouth sometimes runs faster than your already overthinking mind, which was both a blessing and a curse to you. that person was none other than the revered, yet feared, miguel o'hara.

the big man had never done anything to directly intimidate you, it was mainly your anxiety and overthinking that filled in the blanks for you about what he probably thinks about you. you saw him as this distant, otherworldly man who was far, far from your league–he was a stoic, stern, and serious guy who led a whole society of spider people from across the multiverse; he was hot shit, very hot shit. and you're just this... person, this person who came from another earth from some ordinary family, with ordinary roots, and a not-so ordinary mind that could solve technical problems in a matter of seconds–you doubted he'd take notice of you.

though, there was always that more risk-taking part of you–that side of you that always seemed to want to do something that would backfire or impossible to pull off; that side of you that... that yearned to do things that you usually wouldn't do, call it a nice intrusive thought, a reflex, an urge. and that urge was... to make small talk with miguel o'hara as you fix up his web shooter for him.

yeah. not the most comfortable situation.

you're starting to feel how cold and hard the seat below you is as you're analyzing the code in his digital webs. he's seated cross-armed before you and pouting slightly, maybe it was an urge for him, to, to just... pout. it was hard not to notice him pouting–your attention always did come down to his very full and plump lips, sometimes you'd think about the shape of his lips, drawing them out on some scratch paper to get the thoughts out of your mind, and sometimes, you wondered to yourself at random times of the day how good they'd feel against–nevermind. '

oh, please, don't ask him that. talk about anything else, say anything else, just not–'

"ah, um... you have pretty full lips, mig, don't you?" you asked him with a shy smile and an awkward laugh following it. a long silence fell and lingered in the atmosphere, joining the thick awkwardness that was palpable the more and more you tried reviving your dying out, nervous chuckle as you hurried darted your eyes from miguel's lips to his web shooter, trying to wipe the memory of what you just said away from your mind while also berating yourself for saying it.

'that's it, you killed your chances with him. nobody says that, what's up with you? he's gonna think you're weird, that you have a, what, a fetish for him? you've screwed yourself over! you're screw–'

"i do?" miguel asked as he looked at you, his lips still in a pouting look. you got a bit embarrassed, you eyes wide open as you profusely nodded. "i-it's, um, quite..." 'don't say it, don't say it, don't say it–' "...cute." 'you fucked yourself over again, for real this time.'

you began to sweat a little, then a whole lot; the beads of sweat glistening on your forehead as you awkwardly grinned at him to ease the tension of the awkwardness that filled the room, which actually made it worse in your eyes as your grin curved into a wince. "i do, huh." miguel said as he nodded and looked away from you, going back to analyzing the statuses of the earths he was monitoring earlier. "is that a good or a bad thing?" he asked you as you jolted up, straightening your back and stammering as your brain tried loading up an answer. "ah, um... yes." 'seriously?!' "what kind of answer is 'yes'?" 'i don't know!'

"i-i meant, yes! yes, i-it's a good thing. a... a very good thing." you added as you almost finished up fixing and patching up the bugs in his webs so he can finally use his web shooters in action and quit with the idle chatter. though a part of you, no matter how anxious and socially awkward, wanted miguel to stay–despite not having much to talk about, his presence comforted you, somehow. you may not have been the best with words, but you didn't have to be–you were comfortable and content with being with him in silence, just staying with him and being in each other's comfort. because, even though neither of you had a very proper conversation... you had always admired and looked up to him, always caught glimpses of him that spoke a deeper language more than words could ever hope to.

miguel cleared his throat and looked at you fixing up the final touches of his web shooters. "well, then... i suppose i should thank you, for, fixing my web shooters. and for your... unique compliment. i've... never been told that before in my life, it's... it's interesting to know." he muttered, his face getting a big flustered and so was yours–though yours was getting even more heated and flustered because... he's the one you like, the one you adore; the one for you, in your delusional yet genius mind. "um... this might sound very stupid to you, but, if you'd like, um... wanna maybe... come over to my place and... let me cook you up something good?" miguel asked you in stammers, trying to keep his voice even, but ultimately failed.

"i'd... i'd love that." you said with a grin, a bright, lovely grin that was full of hope and joy–you were just the cutesy little thing... and even though you were the one who fell first, miguel certainly fell much, much harder. miguel's AI assistant, lyla, popped up next to miguel and smirked. "was that so hard to say?" she asked him in a playful voice as miguel ignored her. the AI assistant popped up close to your face now and grinned. "y'know, it took him months to tell you that–that's why he always sounds like he's mumbling around you, i hope you weren't scared off by this big grizzly bear of a guy." she apologized for miguel as he growled lowly in embarrassment, like a provoked bear, as lyla described him as.

you giggled and told lyla it was no problem. "honestly, it took me months to talk to him..." "well, perfect, you two are clearly meant for each other." she said as miguel furrowed his eyebrows as his eyes widened. "lyla, i'll disconnect you." miguel warned the AI assistant as she stuck her tongue out at miguel and you whispered to her you'd have her back online in seconds if he did. you truly were the most charming person miguel met, without a doubt–you just needed a little push, a little reassurance, you had his heart in the palm of your hands in seconds; though you had social awkwardness and anxiety, you truly were a joy if the layers of your nervous and anxious self could be peeled back and appreciated, you were just perfect in miguel's eyes.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold

[angelmichelangelo]

Baja blast duo for 5. “Here, lean on me. I can carry you.” ? :)

diabetic rise mikey + portal duo my beloved <33 hope you enjoy this one anon :3 set post-movie !!

x

He feels it happening all before it’s too late.

In his own defense, he hadn’t really intended on ignoring all the warning signs as it was happening, it was just that the entire day so far had been somewhat a blur; portaling back and forth from base to base with Leo hobbling about on his casted leg, trying to lift the mood just slightly as they rummaged about for whatever valuables they could find in the wreck that was once their home, pre-Krang invasion.

But there’s no point in fussing over the semantics of it now. 

Leo has wobbled himself into what was left of his precious kitchen, kicking bits of debris and trash out of his path with the end of his crutch when Mikey suddenly feels his vision blur and his temperature drop.

He’s practically falling into what was left of their couch — now just a ripped up piece of furniture that was probably home to some pretty nasty sewer dwelling bugs right where the fabric was torn away and the stuffing was spilling out.

Crap, he thinks to himself, the sound of Leo’s voice floating from the other room kind of tunes out of his focus of his nonsensical stream of light hearted conversation. His palms shake where he presses them hard against his knees. How could I have let this happen?

He takes a few steadying breaths as his gut swoops.

The room, already an array of messes and disaster, spins violently, and he’s squeezing his eyes tight, haunching over to quell some of the queasiness that rises up out of his stomach.

“Miguel?” Leo’s voice is significantly closer now, just about being to make out the clack, clacking of his crutches as he crosses the room at some impressive speed to reach him.

A cool, welcoming hand lands on his shoulder, unbudging, and Mikey’s big brother is so smart that it doesn’t take him all that long to figure out what was wrong.

“Eugh boy. Skipped out on breakfast, did we?”

Mikey meekly lifts his head upwards. Leo is standing there, looking more like a smudge of greens and blues and reds than he does an actual physical form, but he blinks hard again, trying to unstick his focus, and smacks dry lips together.

“There wasn’t anything in the fridge,” is his very weak response. His vision might be whacking out on him, but he can tell quite clearly when his brother frowns at him, unimpressed at the flimsy excuse.

“Nuh uh,” Leo shakes his head, but his hand is fumbling for Mikey’s wrist, pressing his fingers tight against his pulse point as he starts to somehow count on top of keeping up conversation. “We’re not doing this. You know that if you’re crashing you tell one of us.” He clicks his tongue and drops Mikey’s arm carefully where it flops back into his lap.

“We could have sent April up for milkshakes or something.” He sighs, all weary and drawn out and more Raph sounding than ever. Must be a big brother kind of thing. 

“Alright. C’mon. This is a bust, I’m taking your hypoglycaemic butt home before you really seriously crash out on me.”

Mikey whines, feeling small under his brother's scrutiny, he moves to stand on his feet, but his head swims with all the air that rushes to it, and he feels his blood pressure suddenly take a nose dive like it’d been going for gold at the top of the Empire State Building.

Leo manages to catch him before he falls completely on his ass, swaying into him, there’s a scuffle of limbs and crutches dancing about before Mikey pushes himself upwards and groans.

“Sorry,” he says, palming his head with the heel of his hand. “Sorry. Are— are you alright?”

Leo sighs again, but this time it’s softer and kinder and yeah— that’s more like Leo. 

“Yeah, buddy, I’m alright.” He’s got one arm curled around the small bulk of his shell. Somehow he’s withdrawn his sword and has it clutched in a firm grasp, ready to go. Their temporary home never felt more welcoming right now at the thought of sending April out for shakes and getting a sugar rush, sat around cardboard boxes for makeshift furniture.

The box turtle attempts to take a step forward, wanting to unburden his brother with his share of his weight but Leo is quick to refuse the action, keeping him close with a tighter, warmer hold.

“Here,” Leo says, tugging Mikey to rest against him. His eyes slip shut and he can just about make out the sound of blade cutting through the still air. “Lean on me. I can carry you.”

And Mikey’s brothers are good at that. Even when he’s sporting a broken leg and a bunch of other slow healing injuries both on the inside and the outside, Leo knows how to carry that weight like it was made for him; shaped to fit the palms of his hands in the way that it’s easy for all of Mikey’s brothers to carry. 

He mutters out another sorry, something that probably goes unheard as he feels himself being carefully stepped through the portal, and hugged tighter as together they were pulled towards the direction of home.

And it’s not perfect and not the best place in the world but it’s close enough for him, hours later when he’s sucking down milky salted caramel through a slightly soggy paper straw, perched up on the bean bag chair Leo had salvaged for him when he’d dashed back again in the time it took them to get their food, listening idly to his family chatter away during their afternoon break between fixing up their new home. 

It’s not all perfect, but it’s damn near close enough for him.

[mrsoharaa]

so a thot just occurred to me....

cw: MDNI, +18, not entirely monster fucking but close enough lmao (still going to put that as a warning??), hybrid!spider Miguel (idk what to call him honestly lmao) x reader, mentions of being confined by webbing, bondage (in a slight way??), groping, grinding (practically dry humping).

imagining being plastered flatly, strictly against the solidity of the bricked building in a condensed, dimly lit alleyway. both wrists tightly secured beneath a thick layer of silked webbing, holding you firmly amongst the grating wall before you. your back slightly arched, ass sticking out, as wandering, extended furry spider legs sensually roam up and down the stride of your jolting body. hot breaths crooning deep into your ears, as protracted fangs prod at the shell of your left ear. large palms cradling at the curves of your hips, a firm, twitching bulge like stature, grinding ever so needily and feverishly against your voluptuous rear.

anxiety quickly overwhelms you, excitement and stirred arousal bashfully seeping deep into your tittering bones and skin. building heat saturating deep against the confinements of your soaked underwear. a feeble hitched breath fumbles from your plush lips, the touch of a wide, prickling palm leisurely gliding upward of your shuddering, warm thighs. languid fingers tracing ever so delicately and hungrily over the delicious fat catering to his touchy advance.

another shuddered breath slips past your lips, your hips slightly bucking forward from the prominent throbbing pressing oh, so profusely against your pretty bottom. the hand that swiveled it's way up along your thighs, just inches under your flimsy skirt, halting just at the hemming of your panties.

added weight crowned down amongst your slightly curved back, hefty, torrid breaths permeates into the silken skin of your ringing ears. the sound of his strong inhale creating such an intense rush of adrenaline and fear through you and your twitching, constricted body.

the feel of one of the fuzzy spider limbs crawls just beneath the thin fabric of your top. easefully, sensually caressing and groping all around the beautiful perked mounds that hid behind such an annoying piece of fabric. your limbs shiver heavily, the sound of a deep, based guttural growl insinuating a swarm of fluttering butterflies deep within your warm stomach.

your chin tilts up by another furry limb, forcing your beautiful face to meet the searing, animistic gaze of the...specimen, pinning you down to it's primal desire.

your throat feels dried, your mind goes amuck as your dilated pupils meet a fierce, dark shade of scarlet piercing ever so intently down at you. mending with such unspeakable carnal hunger and lust, what seems to look like drool seeping just inches past his flush, full tempting lips.

fuck.

you tremble more with a sudden touch of an actual human hand cupping around your parched, tightened throat. your lips quivered, thighs molding ever so firmly together as your irises pool with such heightened mixed emotions.

a simple, low baritone chuckle creeps into the thick air that shrouded around the two of you. the sound of excessive tapping (to which you would presume to be the tips of his protracted spider legs) bellowing within your heated ears, your own heart rate accelerating with each intensifying moment. you swallow back, hard. feeling the gentle, yet, sly touch of his limbs peer deep into your burning skin. prickling the hairs that swarmed all over your tiny body to rise with every stroke of his leering limbs.

a shorten gasp tumbles from your lips, the soothing touch of the human thumb brushing along the supple flesh of your agaped lips. gradually circling along the adorable pliant of your warming cheeks.

"You seem nervous, Nena" the sound of his rasp, velvet like voice delves deep into the erratic, amplified conjure of your arising, thrashing hormones. nearly had to fight back a pestering, soft moan from escaping your pliable lips. you simply nibbled tightly onto your bottom lip, eyes still hazily locked with the looming creature hovering behind you.

a glint of a crooked, coy grin beams down at you with such weighted carry of sheer amusement and primal instincts. he gradually leans down a bit closer to you, carefully pulling onto the nape of your throat to meet his handsome face. one you could hardly make out due to the lack of lighting, but still could get a decent glimpse of his perfectly sculpted smug.

the shine of his pearly fangs quickly catches your attention for a brief moment. your attention soon wafting back to meet his impending stare, his thumb pressing into the lush of your cheek, his hot breaths skimming over the tender flesh of your pretty face.

"relájate, mi bonita mariposa…" he gently whisks from above you, his hand that nestles in between your thighs sleazily tugging at the bothersome piece of material that shielded his prize. his face croons down to arch into the slope of your neck, pressing his abnormal, stocky body against yours. the heat that resonated from the bulging form prodding against you, slipping up and down between the luscious shape of your rounded ass.

"I'm not going to harm you..." he murmurs heftily into the softness of your warm skin, humming and pattering his excess limbs in a thrilling manner, motioning the throbbing bulge against your luring ass a bit more desperately.

"I just want a taste...cariño"

[unfortunately-obsessed]

All Things End

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader • Hurt no Comfort • AO3 link

In the end, all is quiet

You said many and many times to Miguel that being in love wasn't a weakness.

It was supposed to be easy. In-and-out, just trying to make a map of the warehouse Sinister Six were using. Empty room. Empty room. They've been doing some remodeling since last tim you've been there.

Just trying to get some pics. Maybe a manifest. Counting the number of goons. Your steps just like a mice's, soundless and light, using of the celling and vents to move undetected.

True to the word, you don't operate the same way most Spiders do. Peter B calls you sneaky and Jess slick, but Miguel respected you for not being reckless like that whole side of the multiverse.

The whiskey, rain and and knock-off cigars scent flooded your nose. Kraven and Sandman are playing poker over a wood box. Kraven got a Full House but you mentally bet on Sandman. Hah.

With the two as guards, you just needed to noiseless.

Empty room. Not empty room, filled with wire but nothing interesting. You had wondered what Doc Ock been planning now. Another empty room.

You don't know what hit you.

The hair in your neck raises, you can't feel your legs.

Mind goes blank with jasmine acid and white, room filled with gas and you weren't quick enough to dodge a kick to the mouth. You punch and cuss aloud before Kraken can lodge a knife on your throat.

Ears unable to hear and eyes unable to see for a sharp second. A tiny mystery. There's shouting and there's pain. Everybody has broken ribs by the end of it.

Your hand voracious raw against a face, so you fumble about what is up and what is down until Kraken is is either unconscious or close enough and there's sand on your lungs and socks.

Two seconds and hard cough is what it take for a metallic arm ragdoll you into a wall.

You bleed an unsurmountable amount.

When the fight is over and after you put Doc Ock to sleep, you hear sirens approaching. Crawling to a celling down the road, you throw up, head tripping.

It's disorienting and the sky doesn't have stars because, after all, you're in New York. The blinding lights are not from stars and your right side is all tender. And it smells like trash and oil. And you think of red eyes and pouty lips and a stubborn valiant man. You wish it to end faster.

Not reckless, huh. You wonder what went wrong and can't pinpoint it, but neither you can feel your fingertips, so all you think is never damage and concussion. Maybe you were just ill-prepared, payed the tool but couldn't pay the price. The shaking comes in waves.

You did say that being in love wasn't a weakness.

And it's true, which doesn't mean you also doesn't have to convince yourself.

Damn Ohio and Vermont. Hate New York the same amount you see it behind your eyelids. Kindness isn't free and both you and Miguel refused to put a name on this burning. You want to go home.

Sometimes the poem writes itself. Sometimes it doesn't need to be written. It untravelled all lungs.

Until the story ends all their heartbeats. Flickering matches. Teeth dripping lead.

Do you love Miguel? Not sure. Does it matter when you're bleeding? Unlikely.

A strange habit: Miguel sometimes travels half the multiverse to see why you weren't answering his calls. You hear him swallowing dry and panic in his eyes.

"M'fine," you say to him.

"You look like shit," he tells you, kneeling to be in your side, hands hovering over, unsure of what to do. Worried that holding you will cause more damage.

"Thanks," you say, calm despite the numbness growing each passing second. Moving was impossible on your current state. Instead, your throat burn at the sight of Miguel. "I can't feel my hands."

Even Miguel, a complete idiot on intersocial intelligence, notices the perfectly hidden edge on voice. You tell yourself that you'll sleep it off, perfectly tucking away the fear.

It's natural and inevitable. Miguel is calm despite himself. "It's alright," he says, voice smooth but deep, husky. Ah, you do love his voice. It could lull anyone to sleep. "You're going to be fine."

The story doesn't have a massage. The notion of it, itself, is ridiculous. In another life, we hold our hands together.

You scoff even if you tell yourself the same. Heart won't stop racing. His hand cupping your neck makes you almost believe it.

It's almost peaceful and quiet, and you can't hear the sirens or the city buzzling as it does. "I'm dying", you conclude, sharing it with him, like you do. At this point, there's not a piece of information you don't share with him.

Miguel's eyes grow wide, fast but you see it. "You're no-"

"Something's wrong, I'm not feeling pain," you say, throat dry and hurting, "I'm dying."

He says something to Layla, who toughly scans you with one droid. The conversation doesn't register on your mind. You place a hand over his.

His head snaps back to you, gaze over your bleeding body. "You lost blood," he tries, yet his voice wavered, "but you're not dying."

Tears. You're crying. His hands relax over your carotid, suddenly bare, calming your mind and breathes. Miguel's shoulders are tense, thumb caressing your cheek. When did you ever take the mask off?

Before throwing up, you think.

Finally, pain laces your head. Red spots on you suit, pooling, but the wound is to o big to stop the flowing. It's smearing him, too. You think, very clinically, that you could have tasted his lips if you both were not cowards.

A stupid mistake. You should have named what's between the two of you.

(You're dying and you can feel it. It's the bleedout and the heart going fast and Miguel denying it instead of saying you're an idiot if you think he'll let you die. It's the trembling and the getting harder to breath. It's the fact you're not in panic.)

He smells apple cinnamon pie and warm sweet home.

There's nothing he can do. Moving you may cause it to come faster. So you don't let him know how much it hurts to move at all. His stomach twists.

Miguel's instinct – always there to be blamed, making him unable to clearly process his thoughts, – is to reach out and engulf you on his arms. He moves slow, closer. He threads his fingers into your stained hair.

"I'm not stupid," you say to him, clenching at his other hand.

This declaration shocks him. As normally, Miguel can't hide the frown on his face. "I know you're not."

"No. I–" A few feverish moments pass. It hurts to breath. You might stare at him forever before blurting out, "Please kiss me."

Keeping you eyes open was starting to be a problem. The sky is spinning. All you feel is drozyness. Like you want to sleep. You want your bed.

"Sweetheart," he says, so slow and low you might have imagined it.

Hot, desperate tears streaked down your face. You couldn't keep appearances anymore, keep playing the waiting game with Miguel. You don't know what cause this pathetic display, but still wasn't worse than the numbness.

A gasp left your mouth as his lips pressed against yours. It settles deep within your chest, but all he probably taste is metal.

A low growl rumbled in your heart.

Why are you crying? It has leapt from my throat when we first spoke, alight when I first head your laughter, strong, hands gone rough with time. Your hands are trembling now.

Hungry mouth and lips. In the end, it's quiet.

Your face dropped the frown. Why are you crying? I cannot undo it. My heart under your palms, ribs de-boned and body peeled from skin. Glossy ruby eyes.

Sorry about the mess. Just hold me. In angry tears, never-mended flesh, and razor-sharp teeth, and sometimes I wondered about the needle edge of it. Guts half-spilled, and rocking waves.

Dear thing, we are bound by fate. I'll let you bring me anywhere.

Bleeding still, shining ribs.

Did you taste the best on the roof of my mouth?

A/N: If you like what I do, please consider supporting me and buying a coffee!

[spidereggs888]

Miguel’s new secretary ooh-la-la

(lol /j 💀)

Miguel O’Hara & y/n, any gender or non gender. Very casual writing style. TW Dark humor, dangerous situations, 18+. Y/n are sorta attracted to Miguel (why else would you be here?) but he doesn’t know you lol

This is a loooong read so make sure you have time or something. Also, there’s an illustration in the middle of the chapter! Enjoy

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

MIGUEL & YOU

ACT 1 | ALGORITHMIC LOTTERY

It's the year 2110.

You are maneuvering through traffic in a sputtery fashion, the lifter problem in your engine getting so bad it almost sounds like you got rocks under the hood. The podcast is going on about alligators in Nueva York sewers.

“Couldn’t be more wrong,” you mumble, “there’s CROCODILES in the sewers, not alligators.”

You aren’t looking forward to this interview. How the heck did you manage an audition for office secretary to the CEO of Alchemax?!

“I don’t know,” you say aloud to your other self, “but if I get the job, Imma upgrade to a better ride than this heap of Maglev shit…”

But there’s other bitches who want this position. Two of them you are aware of: Syd and Brody. Syd is a real suck up who will say any damn thing to get the position. She out-groveled you and got the lead PR accounting job you wanted. Suck-up Syd is what you call her around your friends. Brody on the other hand is opposite; he thinks he can strong-arm his way into anything and he pretty much has. He’s kicked people down, screwed people over, and there’s a rumor he filed a sexual harassment charge on his friend Ashton just to get the promotion before Ashton could.

These two skanks are gonna be tricky, but that’s the least of why you loathe this whole thing. You also heard that Miguel O’Hara is a hard ass. When he came into power a few years ago, he immediately fired the former secretary for talking about his father in a positive light. Then he proceeded to chew and spit out people who ever had the misfortune of being in that job position.

“Or maybe they just cut their losses after raking in half a billion,” your friend Speshall guessed the last time you seen her, “they prolly couldn’t take the heat for that long so they waited until they were set for life then said something stupid on purpose to get him to let them go. What a retirement plan! To work for the sexiest man of the year then have him berate you on your way out!”

She was always like this.

Anyway, now your car is not being validated in the automated parking center.

“What the HELL?!”

“Sorry, your credit has been declined.”

“Oh fuck me-“

You fumble your lanyard of data sticks. You are looking for the green one, which has a small amount of credit you procured from test playing phone games. You lean out of your car window to bring the green stick drive near the wireless reader.

“Sorry, we cannot accept credit from online gambling. Please use another method of payment.”

“Oh fuck you!”

≋ ≋ ≋ ≋

Now you are walking. You had to park where they don’t give a shit about where your money is from. Alchemax is trying to create a good precedent by not accepting dirty money, but Alchemax, as far as you know, does dirtier stuff for pay. Why the hell is “gambling money” any different?!

Scowling so hard, you almost didn’t notice there’s some douchebag trying to walk close behind you. He probably saw the lanyard of data sticks around your neck, so you fluff your scarf around until they are covered.

“I don’t have any money, muh guy” you say in your heaviest Nueva York accent along with this generations lingo.

“Oh I’m not afta you. I was tryna tell ya there’s this otha weirdo following ya. I’m tryna group up here.”

You know better than to look back. That’s what this fucko wants you to do. He’s probably a flasher, so you walk into traffic.

“Hey that’s dangerous, yo!”

You don’t listen. Cars flying past is not as scary as going up to see the freakin CEO of Alchemax.

No cars hit you, so now you have to face reality. You walk into the Alchemax Business Bureau building (one of hundreds), and wave your ID at the receptionist in the lobby. The receptionist is preoccupied with a lady who has one hand on her hip and the other holding out a holo watch. It’s projecting a screen with a giant hourglass animation flipping over and over.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard to get a damn cup of coffee around here, I just don’t!”

“C’mon it’s not necessary to bring security here, ma’am.”

He remains standing behind his desk and grimaces at you. You really need to get him to validate your ID so you won’t be stopped by security, so you pull up your phone and say to the woman, “you want some coffee coupons for Dunkin Donuts?”

“What?”

You open your savings app and hastily air-swipe several coupons to her holo device like someone flicking bills at a stripper. She stops to look at them.

“A regular frap for half off? Oh woooow, how- will they really honor this?” She asks.

“Yeah! It’s good for two more days, so you may wanna hurry over to the kiosk at the west end.”

“Really?”

“They sell all brands of coffee, they’ll honor it.”

“Well, nevermind, then,” she says curtly to the receptionist as she turns her shoulder away, “Didn’t want hours-old coffee anyway.”

She turns on her fancy heel and trots away. You grin stupidly at the receptionist who rolls his eyes and snatches your ID card from you. He swipes it near his card reader then flicks it back without a word.

After a nod, you swiftly leave down the lobby to the elevator area. You round the corner and see an open elevator closing. It's the only one since the other two are under construction. You rush forward as fast as your legs will allow.

"Wait wait WAIT WAIT!"

The doors are closing and you see the face of Suck-up Syd with her smoky eyes and faux fur capelet. She smiles and does nothing as the doors close.

"Shocking typical," you grumble. But you know where the other elevator is. You take off to the other end of the building for the second set of elevators.

You make it onto the elevator with two other people, some white chick and an Indian dude. The lady sees your pass.

"Going for the secretary job?" She asks.

"Yeah."

“Me too. If I don’t get this, I’m going to jump from this building,” the lady jokes.

“If I get this, I WILL jump from this building,” you add.

“Either way, it's gonna be job security for the custodian department,” the Indian guy says. All three of you chuckle politely.

The elevator lets more people in. You check your phone. You are fucking late by 20 minutes, but so is the lady who wants this job or else. You assume it would have taken a while anyway, since there was about 15 people going in for this very same job. Could it be you?! Could you land this job?! What if your mom was wrong?! And what if O’Hara says yes? What if you are set for life?

The final floor of this elevator is reached. You wobble on your way out. The lady doesn’t move.

“Actually, I can’t do this. I’m going home.”

The elevator doors close and she goes back down. You hear a faint byeeeeeeeeeee as the elevator descends to lower levels. You pay no heed and follow the Indian man into the massive hall.

There’s already chaos. One guy is being escorted out of the lobby by his shirt collar, and he's spouting obscenities. Some lady had dropped all her paperwork and she’s too numb to pick it up again. Two ladies near her are sarcastically wishing each other luck, one of them is Suck-up Syd. She looks 10x more desperate today with her tight-fitting outfit and belt buckle the size of a plate. Her overly fake smile gives you no esteem or hope. You almost sit but realize there’s barf on the chair.

Okay, surely everyone is overreacting in here.

“Man I’m not scared at all. There’s a trick to facing down Alpha males,” says a guy who you didn’t ask.

“Ah, cool.” you say through a grin. It’s Brody. You don’t even have to see him to know he’s there with his overwhelming presence of snobbery.

“See, as a Sigma male,” he continues, leaning on the back of the barf chair to talk to you, “I don’t adhere to the Alpha’s orders. That’s how the pack survives! One guy is an outlier so like if the Alpha fails in his role as leader, the Sigma will show by example and the rest of the females and Betas will follow him-“

“BRODY!”

You and Brody see Ashton in the doorway you came from. Ashton beelines across the room with his briefcase raised high. He brings it down on Brody with a loud clunk and they grapple and exchange blows. You go ahead and sit down perfectly still.

"Oh my GOD!" Suck-up Syd muses. She only sees this as two less competitors. You wince as the men start yelling obscenities at each other in their struggle. The guards who took out the last guy come back in and see this happening and they both huff angrily.

"Next!"

"Ah, that's me!" Syd says, “you guys are welcome to leave, I probably got this in the bag.”

She gets up and thrusts her capelet onto the lobby assistant.

.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱ⋅.˳ ˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.

Four hours pass. Brody and Ashton were escorted from the building, those bozos didn’t even get an interview, but it was funny watching Brody get dragged down to hell by a demon he wronged.

Suck-up Syd walked out in tears and a forced smile. You felt bad for making fun of her in the past. She’s just kinda desperate and a little pathetic. You assume groveling doesn't work on the boss.

Other people came and went swiftly. The cheerful Indian man from earlier left looking surprised at his failure. The lady who dropped all her crap earlier apparently already had an interview and was reeling from her bad luck. You understand their disappointment since being chosen for this position was like winning the lottery, except you don't know if you won or not.

“Next!”

Your stomach twists but you refuse to be like them. This is just a job. You’ll be answering phones, emails, and possibly even mailing some dry cleaning. No big fuckin deal.

You thank the lobby assistant but she ignores you and walks away. She is just doing her job. She looks very tired of everyone else’s shit and is probably glad it's over. You walk to the elevator where the second to last person is taking baby-steps, talking on his phone with someone nursing his wounded pride. That could be you in a minute.

I'm probably not gonna get it either, you think, but I'm going down with some dignity.

You work yourself up as you step into yet another elevator, this one glass paneled. You stare across Nueva York as you ascend, contemplating your future. So what if you don't make it? You will simply fall back to your job and go about your life. Your mom will say she's right about the invitation being a fluke. You will go back to paying off debts and supplementing your food budget by testing mobile phone games during work hours and before you go to sleep. You see your own reflection, no longer as young as you used to be, and you sigh.

The glass doors open behind you. You walk through another set of foggy glass doors. Despite your self pep talk, you are still not looking forward to this. You've seen pictures of Miguel O'Hara before; over 6 feet tall, wide shoulders that could support an ox yoke, and a presence so large one would think he could go toe to toe with Godzilla. How will the interview go? You imagine fire. You expect a demon sitting behind a black marble desk in the darkness, a horrendous mob boss wearing Scarface attire, spitting fiery facts and passing cruel judgment, his horns ascending at the heavens with searing indifference and contempt for mercy. You expect a fax machine in the corner that will print out your death.

This is not what you see.

There he is, in this meager temp office sitting behind a tiny desk covered in empty water bottles. His shoulders are wider than the desk, but he's scrunching them in to seem normal. He's wearing a regular dress shirt, no tie. No fancy jewelry either, just some off-brand oversized watch on his left wrist. He looks disappointed already, but not at you. He’s squinting down at some of the tiny desks’ interactive holo-projections. You see your name on one of the files he’s peering at through comically large anti glare glasses.

You don’t sit. You are too stressed. He hasn’t noticed you. He picks up one of the water bottles and carefully opens it with his monster hands. They look travel-sized compared to him. He sips it and notices you.

“Hello!” You greet.

He finishes it in two gulps and sets it down slowly, as to not disturb the other bottles.

“Okay I don’t have a lot of time left, so let’s cut through here… you work for the guys in the PR department-“

“Ah yeah, they are a very friendly bunch down there! That is until you get to know them!” You blurt out. He looks up at you with tired eyes and swipes through the files without looking at them.

“Says here you were demoted from vice head PR accounting a while back, but you attached a note saying you have an alibi? Let’s hear it.”

“Uhhh.”

“C’mon I don’t have all day.”

“There was a payment discrepancy, uh, I was given a raise but I noticed my boss didn’t update it for a whole month. He was on vacation and wasn't answering my calls, so... since he left the finances to me I updated it myself… And I got into trouble BUT it was technically not embezzlement, so I was given an ultimatum to either move to a lower department or get fired, so-“

“Self-reliant. Got it. There's a note from your current department head saying she's been notified anonymously that you've been paying for Alchemax home services with gambling money, what do you have to say about that?"

"I- that is a th- thing with SoloGameMedia, ah, they are a parent company to a gambling franchise, therefore every transaction from them is registered as gambling profit- but I test games with- from them directly! It's a side hustle- thing, I- that, I DO NOT playtest games during work hours! Only on-"

"Why do you think I should hire you?”

You are caught off guard by the most basic interview question.

“Hhhhhh WELL… because you need a secretary now?”

He’s already looking back down at the files again. You can see NYPD files, apparently he’s now looking at your small criminal record. You also notice his shirt is unbuttoned on the top. For curiosity's sake, you discreetly raise up on your toes to see down his cleavage. It's deeper than you expected. One mighty flex and that shirt will send buttons flying everywhere. He looks back up as you quickly drop back down on your heels.

“Yeah. Mmm. Ok. So you are way in over your head in college and credit debt, you have been gambling as a means to get by- really don’t care about that, and you did not dispute your boss's ultimatum when you had the chance."

"Wait, what?"

"Four years ago, when your boss gave you the ultimatum to get demoted or get fired. His proposal was ILLEGAL."

Your gut twists.

"That- that was illegal?!"

"You had six months to report him and you didn't. Why?"

"Be- because I just thought he was being fair, I-"

"I'm sorry, but you got screwed."

He looks sincere behind those nerdy lenses with his pout lips. You really want to throw something right now.

“I… oh…”

"Look, the most I can do is re-open your case," he says as he pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge, "You might get a small settlement out of it, but even that isn't guaranteed."

"So... I'm not getting the job?"

"How do you expect to get hired with such an unexceptional history of white collar crime and a meek attitude that's gotten you nowhere? Hey Lyla? Is this all we have?”

An AI assistant pops up from the interactive desk.

“This is the last one, sir.”

“Okay, cool. Look I’m sure you’re actually great at your job, but I have places to be-“

“Wha- well so do I!”

“Uh huh, nice talking to you,“ he scoots his chair back and hits his knee on the tiny desk, sending empty bottles scattering all over the room. He cringes.

“Well if I’m so unexceptional, why was I accepted for an interview?!”

“I’m gonna guess because of some algorithmic lottery? Probably to do with the amount of experience you have in your department, I dunno,” He guesses as he attempts to gather the bottles by sweeping them under the desk with his shoes, “If you wanna blame someone for the short interview time, thank those other time-wasters who came before you. I gotta go.”

“Now WAIT a… minute”

He stands up from his tiny desk as you say that. He’s towering over you with a tired expression and loose strands of hair about his face.

“What?” He asks, all friendliness gone.

“Can we continue this interview at a different time? You obviously haven’t found a secretary you want, but you still need one, right?! I could be the one you need even if I’m not the one you want!”

It takes every inch of your being to not slap yourself on the forehead. He is scrunching his nose, squinting down at you with mild contempt. You get a good look at his sharp, broad temples and cheekbones, complete with a hardened jaw. His thick dark lips are pulled to one side in annoyance and are accentuated with a pair of jowls that look poised to bite at any time like some kind of deep sea angler fish. His eyes are very dark. They almost look red…

His expression goes blank as he sighs.

“Okay.”

“Great! Ah, when?!”

“Tomorrow, same time.”

“Grabsolutely- Great- fantastic! I won’t let you down!”

“Uh huh.”

He leaves. You assume you should leave too. You awkwardly follow him. He grabs his coat off a nearby chair, and you get a brief display of his amazing body shape as he flips the coat over his shoulders. You avert your attention to the floor, already feeling disrespectful after having looked down his shirt. Now you are both in the elevator. You are doing all in your power not to pass out over your small lucky break.

O’Hara pretends you aren’t there as he looks at his phone and chats with his AI assistant.

“Lyla, push the evening meeting to tomorrow as well, except an hour earlier.”

“Roger that!”

“I need coffee.”

“Roger that also!”

“Please, PLEASE tell them to not add cream. I really hate when they do that.”

You wanna ask him if he’s lactose intolerant but you already pushed your luck today.

Apparently he is exiting the building in the same way you are going, but he's booking it with long ass strides and it's difficult to keep up. You both end up on the same elevator again, this time with other people. He awkwardly acknowledges you with a blank smirk and brow raise, then promptly looks back down at his phone. Everyone else is trying not to bother him.

"Hello, Mister O'Hara, I didn't realize you were here! Hi!" says a lady who is shooting her shot at a social connection (she totally knew he was there.)

"Ah, hey. Miss...?"

"Stacy Brian! We met at the Student Festival earlier this year."

"Oh, right, right! Miss Brian, how are you?"

"Doing well! I didn’t know you wore glasses!"

"Oh- I totally forgot these were on my face," he admits while taking them off and trying to find a place to stash them, "I actually don’t wear glasses, it's- um, I have issues with bright computer screens."

You discreetly watch him in the elevator wall reflection as he quickly swaps the lenses out for a pair of red sunglasses. The elevator doors open and everyone flows out into the foyer. You realize you never got his card.

"Hey one more thing, sir!" You call out to him.

"What?"

"I don't have your number! What if we need to reschedule?!"

"Ah, right. Get your phone out, please."

He turns back around and searches for something on his phone. With a swift flick of his hand, he air drops his ID and number to your device.

"Thank you!"

"¡De nada!"

He swiftly leaves through the front doors and trots down the steps. You watch this huge marvel of nature hail a cab. The automated transporter car is so small that he has to bring his shoulders in tight to fit through the doorway. This seems to have more to do with him not wanting to snag his nice jacket.

A man of this position and wealth... hailing a cab? Must be in THAT much of a hurry. You look down at the data he sent you. His ID photo looks like they took his picture after pulling an all-nighter, and his half-hearted smile reveals his crooked teeth. But somehow he still looks great in an unconventional way.

•°《💀》°•

You drive home, feeling both anxious and also deflated. Miguel O'Hara was a mixed bag of what you expected. Speshall hyped him up as a sexy hunk of the year and Brody felt so intimidated that he went on an unwarranted Alpha Male rant, but the guy was so awkward with his tiny desk and water bottles and weird glasses, and he was whining to his AI helper about his coffee. He’s a large… finicky… lactose-intolerant nerd, but he's also got the moxy to move mountains. What’s more, now ya gotta think of what to say to him in the next interview. What could be expected of a guy like that? What if he cancels the meeting and your chance is lost forever?

Your car makes it home and you sit in it for a moment. Speshall left you a text asking about the interview.

Went weird, you text back.

"Welcome back, tenant 27," the AI apartment valet greets.

You open your car door and notice you've been parked over the grates again. You remember when you last dropped your phone in this spot, the fucking thing went right in between the grate holes and you couldn’t get it back for a week. You have the presence of mind to upload the latest bit of information (O'Hara's phone number) to your data cloud.

You walk through the parking garage. You know all the safe routes. It didn’t matter who you were, Nueva York was never safe at night.

You hear footsteps to your left but it’s just a couple of people walking together, a man and woman trying to huddle. The garage opening is just ahead. You go ahead and march out, not looking back.

You step out into the warm breeze of middle-class Nueva York. The wind is artificial, billowing from the hydro-electric plants that keeps this city running. It took you forever to get here, a lot of cheap-skating, white lies, and debt piling to maintain this life, but you are here! Unapologetic holo screens buzz near you as you walk, begging you to spend money as they light up the way to your apartment. There's no point in tapping their "no" buttons since that just wastes your time. The screens showcased brand-new cars, beautiful clothes, and radiant health. If you had more money, at least some of that could be yours. You hate that people roll around in all the wonderful things this world has to offer while you have to make do with decade old clothing and over-processed food. Where the hell is everyone getting it all from? When the hell will you get yours?

“Hey! Wanna buy a shared data cloud?!”

You are now being bothered by a salesman. You say nothing and keep walking. Even saying no opens more dialogue. He gives up but another comes at you.

“Wanna be a part of the elite task force that edits any and all articles about Thor?! It’s a paying job! $100 an hour!”

As dystopian as it sounds, $100 an hour won’t get you far in Nueva York, not in this era of quadrillionaires.

“Hey, I saw ya on da street earlier! Ya walked into traffic!”

You accidentally glance over at the familiar voice talking about the familiar subject. He’s got you. Your eyes are fixated on a creepypasta face, his irises flashing in a hypnotic pattern. This was way worse than the idea of the guy being just a flasher.

He’s a black market demon. The worst street hawker known to man.

You can’t remember much else besides him taking you by the hand and leading you away.

_________________________________________

Next: ACT 2 | BLACK MARKET DEMONS

[hunting4fluff]

aight come get y’all food hehe

Business as Usual pt.2

(Sorry about the wait! Hope y’all enjoy :))

Summary: Lyla informs Peter about something that Might help Miguel relax for a bit.

Lee Miguel

Ler Peter

————————————————————————————

At 9 at night, a message from Lyla was the last thing Peter was expecting. He had fallen asleep in his recliner after putting Mayday to bed when his phone buzzed in the crack of the cushion, the sound amplified by the texture of the leather and waking the groggy man. He slipped his hand down and fumbled with the phone, grunting in frustration before finally managing to pry it from it's pit. He squinted at the sudden light, allowing his eyes to adjust before reading.

"Miguel has finally agreed to me sharing some information that I think you'll find very useful."

Peter furrowed his brow, perplexed before reading the name at the top of the messaging app. His eyes widened as his sleepiness was readily forgotten as he sent a message back to Lyla.

"Lay it on me!" Peter sent back with a thumbs up. Lyla's message sent back in a matter of seconds, reading:

"I could explain, but I think this video will do justice for all the details."

Peter quickly tapped the video, cursing his slow connection as it buffered for a moment. The moment the video played, his face lit up in delight, laughing as he started to compose a message back.

"You think he'd let me?" To say he was excited was an understatement- he wasn't even entirely certain of the last time he had seen Miguel smile.

"He'll definitely curse you out, but it'll be good for him. Trust the process and go for the hips." Lyla messaged back, only making Peter grin more. He sent back a thumbs up emoji and went to get ready for bed. He figured he would get well rested enough to remain agile in case he got hit.

By around lunchtime at noon, Miguel was back to his usual irritable demeanor. He had grabbed himself a sandwich from the cafeteria and had barely touched it, instead staring at the screens in front of him and watching for anomalies with a glare.

Peter swung in landing with a soft thud behind Miguel and leaning over the other man's shoulder with a huge grin.

"Ooh, fun, fun. Scowling over the Spiderverse?" Peter commented, earning a irritated huff from Miguel.

"I'm working. Like you should be doing. Preferably in your own universe."

Peter chuckled, unbothered by Miguel's grumpy jabs.

"C'mon, you're working all the time. Why don't you loosen up a little? You never laugh, smile- Spiderpeople are funny! You're the only Spiderman who's not funny!" Peter went on his 'witty spider' rant, wrapping an arm around Miguel's shoulders. Miguel thought about shrugging him off, but instead rolled his eyes, glancing at another screen away from Peter's head.

"What are you even doing here, anyways? What's it gonna take to get you to leave?" Miguel grumbled. Peter's face lit up as Miguel asked the question, taking this as the perfect opportunity to elaborate.

"What will it take? Hmm... let's see... How about a smile for once? Lyla told me some interesting information last night..." Peter hummed, the arm draped over Miguel's shoulders moving to drag his fingers over the opposite side of Miguel's neck. His forearm rested on Miguel's collarbones, making it hard to shake off when Miguel jumped and fought back laughter.

"Peter..." Miguel warned, his cheeks tinting noticably redder as his voice strained to contain himself. He didn't fight Peter away, however. Instead he sat there, his shoulders trembling as he tried to appear calm.

"Miguel." Peter teased back, his fingers dragging dangerously close to Miguel's jaw. Miguel's chin snapped down to his chest, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he restrained laughter. Peter's movement didn't quit yet as he dragged his finger lightly behind Miguel's ear, causing the larger man to snort. Peter was grinning like a fool, his other hand sneaking behind Miguel to surprise him on his ribs.

"There we go! Now can you laugh? I'm almost worried you don't know how." Peter chuckled as Miguel started to curl in on himself. Now was the perfect time. Peter clutched his hand to Miguel's ribs, massaging his fingers over the bone gently. Miguel immediately arched away from the touch, an honest to god *giggle* slipping out of him as Peter unwrapped his arm from across his chest. Miguel suppressed more laughter, his face flushing red as a full blow grin graced his features. Peter's now free hand clung to the other side of Miguel's ribs, causing the other man to burst into laughter and curl into the desk in front of him. He wrapped his arms around his face as his shoulder shook with laughter as the loud sounds poured from behind his shield.

"That was a cute sound!" Peter laughed, fully pleased with himself as his hands shifted down to Miguel's sides. Miguel's head shot up at the change and his laughter was fully exposed to the room. He was grateful it was just him and Peter in his workspace.

"P-Peter! ¡Cállate!" He yelped out, his hands slamming onto the table as he gripped the metal surface. His claws ground with an almost painful sound, causing Peter to flinch and shift one of his hands back up to Miguel's ribs. Miguel's laughter grew in volume squirming and finally twisting himself around to grab at Peter's arms.

"Woah there!" Peter laughed, moving out of reach before moving back in to grab Miguel's hips like Lyla instructed earlier. Miguel's entire face scrunched up with laughter as he doubled over, gripping Peter’s wrists but not moving them in the slightest. His shoulders shook with loud laughter and even as his head bowed lower to hide himself, he didn’t look angry by it.

Peter stared at Miguel, partially overjoyed that his- even though it was really lyla’s -plan worked, and partially blown away that Miguel could even be anything other than angry. He heard a snort and whine from Miguel whom of which, in the midst of his dumbfounded musing, he had somewhat forgotten that he was actually still tickling him. He lightened up, spidering his fingers up Miguel’s sides one last time before pulling away. Miguel yelped and his head shot up as he arched his back a bit, his face still beaming from laughter. He sat there and curled around himself a hint, still shaking from residual giggles and catching his breath.

Peter continued to stand in front of Miguel, a large grin plastered across his face in pride. He patted Miguel’s shoulder earning a familiar groan from the larger man as he propped his elbows on his knees and hid his face.

“Nobody hears about this.” Miguel’s demanded, knowing full well he’d never hear the end of it. Peter just chuckled and shook his head.

“My lips are sealed. This stays between me you and Lyla- but hey! You seem a lot more relaxed now!” Peter commented. Miguel raised his head to shoot a glare at Peter, but it was clear that his heart wasn’t in it.

“Also, I didn’t hear a ‘stop’ or ‘no’- I think you told me to ‘shut up’, but-“

“Peter.” Miguel huffed, his face flushing again. Peter leaned in a bit closer to Miguel.

“What, am I wrong? Did you really hate it all that much?” Peter was being a bit more teasing, his voice traced by an amused laugh. He knew it was all in good fun and Miguel’s reaction said it all.

“I… Yeah, okay whatever. Just- go do something important.” Miguel huffed, his vague admission more than enough for Peter to beam.

“You know, maybe we could make it a business thing. We schedule once a week to help you rela-“

“PETER.”

“Alright, alright, I’m headed out! Sheesh.” Peter shrugged. He still couldn’t manage to wipe the smile from his own face, and maybe he could help Miguel wear one more often.